The Sword Works in Mysterious Ways
by crapemyrtle
Summary: Set during the Horcrux hunt in DH. The sword of Gryffindor always helps Gryffindors in need. Will its magic help Ron and Hermione grow closer? Includes shared dreams, mild angst and romance, peeks into the future, and moody Harry.


The Sword Works in Mysterious Ways

A/N: Please read and review. And if you like it, pass it on to friends. Thanks for reading.

Ron knew the sword of Godric Gryffindor came to the aid of Gryffindors when they most needed it. Certainly, the destruction of the locket Horcrux certainly qualified as a time of need. Now, with the sword in Hermione's lap as she polished its many rubies, Ron wished the sword could do something to help him with his particular dilemma.

He'd been back for a week now, and Hermione was acting no less icily towards him than she had in the hours after his return. Still, it was such a relief to see her again, despite the fact that they still had no food to eat, hadn't a single clue where to find the next Horcrux, and Hermione was not speaking to him.

"Can I see that?" Ron asked Hermione, and she handed him the sword, hilt first, without a word. Ron gripped the hilt and weighed the sword. It was damn heavy, and Ron found himself wondering again how a puny little slip of a kid like Harry had managed to wield it against the basilisk second year. Surely, the sword had come to Harry's aid and had molded itself to his needs. _Wish you'd help me here,_ Ron thought as he searched for his reflection in the blade.

He handed the sword to Hermione who took it from him. She placed it at the foot of her bed and covered it with a blanket. Harry arrived at the tent then, having summoned a young trout from a nearby river. He'd cleaned it at the riverbank and brought the fish into the tent. "Oh, Harry!" Hermione said and took the fish from him. Immediately, she began heating frying pans in the tiny kitchen. Ron averted his eyes from the clanging and scraping he heard. He tried very hard not to think of the way his mum might prepare the fish as he smelled something burning.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, as she presented the boys with very burnt trout.

"No, it's good," Ron said, a bit too excitedly, and shoved half his portion into his mouth at once.

"Honestly?" she asked.

Ron choked, coughing and pounding his fist against his chest. "Yeah." His eyes watered, and he took a deep breath, readying himself to eat the other half of the fish.

"Thanks," Hermione whispered. "I know it's terrible, but…" she stopped, waving off Ron's shaking head. "No, really. It's bad. But thanks for being, um, nice about it."

"Okay," Ron said, and put down his fork.

"You aren't going to finish it?" Hermione asked.

"Er, no?"

"Fine," she said, and pursed her lips. Ron recognized the expression.

"Wait. Are you angry again? You said you knew it was terrible! I was only eating it to make you feel better about your cooking."

Hermione gasped and snatched Ron's plate. She dumped the uneaten half of his fish onto Harry's. "Harry," she said pointedly while staring at Ron, "knows not to waste food."

"Hermione, don't get all wound up. I was eating it, you know."

"You don't have to pretend for my sake!" Hermione

"You're mental!" Ron shouted, reaching his limit. He felt as if the Horcrux was back around his neck, egging him on. He thought of the sword under Hermione's blankets, sitting there useless, when two Gryffindors needed its help. _It couldn't help anyway,_ he chided himself after Hermione jumped into bed and hid under the covers, _except help Hermione kill me faster_.

* * *

_He was in the Burrow. Ron knew because the air smelled like earth and sweet things baking. He opened his eyes and felt a heavy weight on his chest. When he looked down, he saw a mass of brown curls. Hermione! She slept on, her arm resting across his lap, her forearm pressing against—bloody hell! What _was_ she pressing against? _

_Ron shifted in his seat and looked around. The living room at the Burrow was empty save for them. Outside, the sun was just beginning to go down. Ron felt his breath quicken. Hermione had never sat _this_ close. He could smell her shampoo, feel her heartbeat against his ribs. Her left leg was thrown over his, revealing a white thigh and a smattering of freckles on her knee. _Never seen those_, he wondered. He passed his hand over them lightly._

_Hermione jumped a little and looked up. "Hey," she whispered, then bent her head and yawned against his chest._

"_Still sleepy?" Ron asked, and questioned his earlier disorientation. Yes, this was right, relaxing at the Burrow with Hermione, like he always did. Time seemed to have moved rapidly. The war, Ron knew, was long over, and he wondered if he'd been dreaming about those dreary days in the tent, hunting Horcruxes._

"_Mmm," she said, and pushed up a bit until her lips met his. "Mmm," she said again, against his mouth, and her lips parted. "Still sleepy," she said when she released his bottom lip. "Let's go to bed."_

* * *

Hermione woke in the middle of the night, startled by the dream. It had felt so natural sitting there with Ron. She'd fit against him so well, the way spoons nestle against each other in a drawer. Hermione felt cold now, having felt the warmth of his body, truly felt it, as if he'd just been in her bed.

_Bed_, she thought. _Merlin, that's how the dream ended_. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to imagine the rest of it. She figured she had at least another hour before it was her turn to sit watch outside the tent, but sleep took over before she could fight it off.

_Bloody hell_, Ron thought as the dream woke him. He ventured a peek at Hermione's form just a few feet away. She was stirring, he could tell. Ron wished it weren't winter, wished Hermione didn't wear long jeans, so he could check for the freckles on her knee.

He dreamt of her often, things that embarrassed him in the light of day, but this dream seemed far more real, less outrageous, and somehow, even more of a turn on. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the tickle of her curls underneath his chin, could count her heartbeats. _One, two, three_, he counted as he remembered the warmth of that imagined moment, and fell back asleep.

An hour before dawn, Hermione shook Ron's shoulder when it was his turn to keep watch outside. She yawned, covering her mouth, and slipped back into her warm bed. She slept for another hour before waking Harry and calling Ron into the tent at sunrise. She made a weak soup with the remaining fish from the night before, and toasted some bread. The trio ate their breakfast in silence, but every once in a while, Hermione chanced a look at Ron, and more often than not, he was looking back, his ears burning red.

They spent a quiet day in the Forest of Lintuck before packing up camp and apparating near the shore, "Just a few miles south of Shell Cottage, I reckon," Ron said as he took in the landscape for the first time. Sleeping at the water's edge was reassuring to all of them, and with a bit of imagination, it felt as if they were on holiday and not a suicidal mission. A sojourn into a nearby Muggle village yielded some Indian takeaway. Later, Hermione would blame her wild dream on the curry and korma sauce.

* * *

_Ron's hands were _everywhere_! Hermione could no longer keep track of them. There seemed to be hands in her hair, on her waist, gripping her face and then between her legs. Every once and a while, he groaned in her ear, and Hermione would respond by arching her body into his._

_"Hold on," Ron said and froze above her, breathing hard. "Give me a second." His eyes were closed in concentration, and Hermione caressed his cheek with her hand. Then she laughed._

_"Shh! Are you mental?" Ron whispered, and pressed his body on hers. "If mum hears us…"_

_"We're perfectly within our rights here," Hermione heard herself say, then ground into Ron again. _

_Ron smiled and lifted her hand to his lips, twirling the slim gold band on her third finger. "True that, Mrs. Weasley. Still," he said, and kissed her neck, "I'd rather keep our um, activities, to ourselves when we visit my parents." Ron kissed her collarbone then, and suddenly, his hands were everywhere again, and Hermione closed her eyes._

* * *

Hermione woke with a gasp. It was dark still, and she could just make out Harry's shape hunched over the Marauder's map outside the tent. Her heart was pounding and shivers of pleasure assaulted her now and again. That's when she heard it.

"Shite," Ron whispered and started shifting bed sheets around. Hermione closed her eyes when she saw him sit up in bed. "Scourgify," she heard him say when he found his wand in the mess of blankets around him.

_What in the world is he cleaning_? she thought for a moment, then remembered her dream. _Could he have? Just now? _Hermione imagined that Ron's dream partner was probably some longhaired, busty blond, and she was suddenly saddened, the magic of the dream disappearing in an instant. _Stupid coincidence_, she thought.

As for Ron, he couldn't get the image of a very naked, very willing Hermione out of his head. Like the night before, this dream had felt more real than any other, and had resulted in, well, something quite real and messy, too. _Merlin, I hope I didn't make any noises_, Ron thought to himself as he saw Hermione roll onto her side. He couldn't tell if she was sleeping or not, and was pondering just that when Harry came in the tent to switch places with him.

That morning, and for the rest of the day, Hermione had a difficult time looking Ron in the eyes. She'd acquired a very Weasley blush, and was more quiet that usual. Ron, too, had given up his usual banter and one-liners, meant to alleviate the tension they were all feeling, for a more serious, decidedly more nervous demeanor. It was driving Harry mad.

"What's with you two?" Harry said, breaking at last over dinner.

"What?" Ron and Hermione said at once, and both looked down at their plates.

"That! That weird thing you're both doing. What, did you catch Ron in the loo or something?"

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione said.

"Bloody hell, Potter," Ron said at the same time.

Harry knew he wasn't going to get anything out of them at that point. "Well," Harry said, changing the subject. "I reckon we all need a solid night's sleep. We can strengthen some of those spells outside and lay off keeping watch, at least for one night."

"I guess it would be okay. For one night," Hermione said warily. Part of her was happy Harry suggested it. Perhaps now, with a full night's sleep, the dreams would go away. Or maybe, she could follow them to their conclusion.

Ron was thinking along the same lines, and suggested they tuck in earlier than usual. Harry, who'd been yawning all day, agreed heartily. Ron covered up in several blankets (he was always the coldest at night, whereas Hermione ran hot, so the others had given him their extras). _If last night's dream is any indication, I'm in for a fantastic evening_, he thought before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

_Ron's left hand had gone completely numb under Hermione's grip. She'd been in labor for most of the day, and Ron had not left her side, even when his stomach grumbled and Hermione shot him a foul look. Now, nearing the end of the delivery, Hermione's strength was beginning to wane._

_"We need you to work for just a bit longer," the healer said from the foot of the bed. Hermione's breath was quick now, and her arms hung limply at her side. It was as if all her strength had been sapped, and the little of it that remained she'd directed into her hand, crushing Ron's own hand with a ferocity that made Ron suddenly sorry for Malfoy, who'd experienced a punch to the face from that seemingly delicate hand._

_"Come on luv, you're almost done," Ron said into Hermione's ear as she grunted through another contraction. He leaned away from her to look at things from the healer's perspective. What he saw both grossed him out and awed him at once. Ron didn't know both feelings could exist so powerfully. More importantly, he'd gotten a glimpse of their baby, nearly out._

_"On the count of three, Mrs. Weasley," the healer intoned, in a voice far too sing-songy for the occasion._

_"Don't let go," Hermione whimpered and Ron offered his other hand, too._

_"One, two, three."_

* * *

Ron heard Hermione's agonized scream before she woke up. He bolted out of his bed and fell to his knees beside hers. They were both breathless now, and Ron couldn't keep his hands, which ached, oddly, from shaking. Harry was up, too, shouting, "What happened? Who's here?" and casting light around the tent with his wand.

Hermione groaned and sat up. Her cheeks were wet and she dried them with the inside of her shirt. Her hips ached, as did her back, and the intensity of the dream came back with such force that she started crying again.

"It's just a dream," Ron said, and sat up beside her, holding her close to him.

"Don't let go," she whispered, and Ron froze.

"What did you say? You've said that before, just now," he said and Hermione looked up into his eyes, which were widening.

"Were you dreaming, too? About, about…" Hermione asked and stuttered to a stop. Ron nodded, realization dawning on him and leaving him gobsmacked.

"Are you okay? I mean, do you feel all right?"

"Merlin, Ron, it hurt so much." Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and Ron rubbed her arm.

"What are you two on about?" Harry demanded.

"Give us a moment!" Ron shouted, louder than he intended.

"Are you sick?" Harry asked Hermione, ignoring Ron.

"No, I'm fine. Honestly. Let's all just go back to sleep."

"Hermione, we need to talk," Ron said, holding her at arm's length now and looking her up and down, expecting to see a hospital gown, so real was that dream.

"No, Ron, we need to sleep. We are clearly exhausted." Ron grimaced, and squeezed her shoulders before going back to his own bed. As for Hermione, the ache in her core was subsiding. She stretched her legs, and her feet touched the cold metal of the sword of Gryffindor. _Tomorrow night_, she thought, _that thing stays in Harry's bed._

* * *

"Okay, you two. Spill it. I know I've kept secrets in the past, but now is not the time to…"

"Don't get your wand in a knot," Hermione snapped at Harry, then softened when she saw the hurt in his eyes. The dreams were all she could think of now, and her temper was suffering for it. It also didn't help that Ron was keeping his distance from her, as if that last dream had affected him so badly that he was regretting the moment he ever met Hermione Granger.

The truth, of course, was that Ron thought he might burst into tears if he looked at her too long. He hadn't understood, until last night, why his mum and dad had so many kids. The excitement he felt during that dream (along with the terror that something would go wrong, that he'd lose both Hermione and the baby) was singlehandedly the most significant thing he'd ever felt.

"Harry, it seems that Ron and I, we've, um, well, we don't know how or why it's happening but, we, um…"

"Are sharing dreams, I think," Ron said for Hermione.

Harry stiffened. His own experience with dodgy dreams never ended well. "You don't think You Know Who…"

"No, I don't think so," Hermione said. "There's nothing _evil_ or menacing about these dreams."

"You woke up screaming," Harry said, his arms crossed now.

"I wasn't hurt."

"You _were_ hurting," Ron said.

"I don't want to talk about it," Hermione said.

"But Hermione," Harry interrupted.

"Drop it, Harry," she answered, and Ron shrugged his shoulders. Ron understood where she was coming from, and he surprised himself. She'd been exposed in these dreams, intimately exposed, and it was bad enough that Ron had seen her. She didn't want Harry to develop any mental pictures.

"Ron, surely you must…"

"Drop it," Ron echoed Hermione's admonition. She mouthed the words "thank you" to him, and he felt his ears go red again.

Harry was angry and moody the rest of the day. At night, he took the first and second watches. If Hermione and Ron were sharing dreams, and they didn't want him to know about it, then he refused to be witness to any of it. He even went so far as to shield the camp door, then thought better of it and lifted the shield. Even so, when Ron and Hermione did wake up from their dreams, Harry missed their waking.

* * *

_The lanky, dark haired boy zoomed low on his new broom. "You've got your Uncle Ron's skills!" Ron laughed as he flew past._

_"Oh please," Ginny said, clapping as her son gathered speed in the air. "He clearly got it from me." Hermione was sprawled on the grass on a picnic cloth, nursing a small bundle with brown hair._

_"He nearly done?" Ron asked his wife. "I want to take him up for a ride."_

_"You will do no such thing!" Hermione said without much force. She knew Ron was only joking. He'd already warned their daughter, Rose, about going near a broom when he caught her straddling one._

_"You're barely walking, you want to fly," he cooed in her ear, and the toddler had kissed his nose. _

_"All done," Hermione said, plucking her son's mouth away from her, wiping his chin and handing him to his father. "He needs a change," she said, and wrinkled her nose._

_"Of course he does," Ron groaned. Ginny, pregnant but still spritely, was at her brother's side, taking the baby from his arms._

_"I'll do it, Ronnie," she said, and Ron smiled lopsidedly, as if his charm had, once again, gotten him out of an unpleasant job. That's when they heard the scream._

_They all looked up to watch Rose tumbled off the back of James' broom. How she'd gotten up there they'd somehow missed, and now, she was little more than a twirling, red-headed dot plummeting to the ground._

* * *

It was the second consecutive night that Hermione Granger woke up screaming. Her throat hurt from it. But this time, Ron's scream had come on the heels of her own, and she was the first to reach him and throw her arms around his neck.

"We have to help her!" Hermione said, frantic, her hands clutching at Ron's collar.

"I know. I know," he was frantic, too, searching for his wand in his sheets.

"We, we…Wait. She isn't real," Hermione said, and slowed to catch her breath.

"She's real, 'Mione," Ron said and his voice caught in his throat.

"Not right now she isn't," Hermione said. "But maybe, someday…"

"You think so?"

"Oh, Ron. I don't know. They may just be dreams," Hermione said, and covered her face with her hands. Ron didn't think so. He thought of the sword of Gryffindor, which Hermione had left in her bed, noted how Hermione's hands had just been around his neck and how she was in his bed now, and wondered if that sword was helping a pair of Gryffindors in need after all.

"Would you like it to be true? I mean, not that last bit, but the rest?" Ron asked, looking down at his hands.

"Would you?" Hermione mumbled from beneath her hands.

"Yeah. I think so," Ron said, and took Hermione's hands off her face. He held them for a moment and squeezed lightly.

"Me, too," Hermione whispered. Suddenly, she sat straighter. "But Rose. What will happen to Rose?"

"All the dreams were happy events before that," Ron wondered aloud.

"But this one seemed so awful."

"I reckon there's nothing we can do," Ron said, and Hermione nodded. "Except win this bloody war. And survive. There's that."

Hermione laughed for the first time in days. "Yes, and we have to figure US out, too."

"There's that." They sat quietly on Ron's bed for a while until Hermione felt herself grow sleepy. She kissed Ron lightly on the cheek and he closed his eyes.

"Goodnight, Ron," she said, and headed back to her bed.

"Goodnight, 'Mione," Ron said. Later, still awake, he called, "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I bet it ends well." They fell asleep soon after that, and didn't dream the same dreams ever again.

* * *

James Potter knew he was in serious trouble. His little cousin Rosie looked so cute on the ground, throwing her arms up in the air and shouting, "I want wide, I want wide on bwoom!" He'd swooped down and picked her up and the toddler had giggled and whooped as James dove with her. He'd hardly noticed she'd fallen until he heard her scream.

Ron's first instinct was to draw his wand, as did Ginny and Hermione. But in the time it took to point three wands her way, Rose was three inches from the ground. The wonder was that the little witch had stopped short of the earth and spun slowly before it, giggling before she floated softly down the rest of the way.

"Was that…?"

"Not me," Ginny said.

"I didn't cast a spell," Hermione said, Rose in her arms now.

"Rosie! You've done magic!" Ron said, taking Rose and tossing her in the air. Hermione squealed, and Ginny roared at young James to "Get down here this instant!"

Later that night, when the kids were both asleep, Ron tickled Hermione's ear with a strand of her own hair.

"I was right," he sang, as she swatted his hand away.

"About what you smug prat?"

"About the dream. Remember that?"

"How could I forget?"

"Told you it would end well," he said, and leaned over his wife. He kissed her lips, then her nose.

"You did, that," Hermione said, and kissed him back.


End file.
